


Ron Stallworth’s C.S.P.D. Safe Space

by ChangeWillSaveYou



Category: BlacKkKlansman (2018), Late Night with Seth Meyers
Genre: Jokes, M/M, Ron Stallworth as Amber Ruffin and Flip Zimmerman as Seth Meyers, sweet like candy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-26 00:51:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16209236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChangeWillSaveYou/pseuds/ChangeWillSaveYou
Summary: Ron invites Flip to his secret safe space.





	Ron Stallworth’s C.S.P.D. Safe Space

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know whether to call this a remix or a parody or a list of jokes stolen from other people. It will make a lot more sense if you've seen [“Amber’s Late Night Safe Space”](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RJnquSNVuuw), a funny and touching late night television bit made in response to the events in Charlottesville that were shown at the end of BlacKkKlansman.

Ron balls up a sheet of paper and rolls it between his hands. He considers the view in front of him: Flip’s chair, Flip’s broad shoulders, the back of Flip’s head.

Ron and Flip are hovering at that delicate tipping point, weightless flirting on one side and the undeniable pull of gravity on the other. Ron knows which side he wants to come down on.

But it’s Friday afternoon, near quitting time, and it’s been a hell of a week, and right now Ron just wants to talk to Flip because Flip is the only person who was _there_. Only Flip knows what it does to you, to spend hours at a time agreeing out loud with people whose view on the world is entirely racial, and whose view on race is utterly delusional. And the hits keep coming, and Ron’s nerves are fraying.

Ron tosses the tight paper wad in a neat arc that curves over Flip’s head and ends precisely in the center of the file on Flip’s desk that Flip is looking at.

“What the fuck,” says Flip, voice flat.

“Hey, Flip! What it is, what it is,” calls Ron, brightly.

Flip picks up the ball of paper and turns slowly in his chair to face Ron. He’s holding the projectile between his thumb and forefinger, motioning like he's going to throw it back. He’s taking aim at a spot right between Ron’s eyes, but he doesn't release, and Ron doesn't flinch.

“Are you all right?” Flip asks.

“Hey, Flip,” Ron says again, more gently. “I'm all right. You know, I — I planned on coming in to work today to talk to everyone about the events of the last week: the bomb attack, the way we were forced by parties unknown to give up our investigation, the fucking cross burning last night. I was going to tell you all not to be discouraged, to keep up the fight, and to know that we can make a difference. And I truly believe that. But it’s just too much right now.”

Flip nods, slowly. “It must be hard for you.”

“It is!” Ron says. “I’m tired! I’m tired of people using racist language here at work. I’m tired of people treating me like I’m a threat, or a suspect.”

Flip frowns, but doesn’t say anything.

“I’m tired of people asking me if I can get them on Soul Train, just because I’m black.”

“And you can’t,” Flip says, reasonably.

“Don Cornelius is my second cousin, but that's not the point. I’m coping with a lot right now.” Ron lifts his hands to his head, checks his do. He has an idea. “But it’s not a scramble, it’s a fourteener. And it’s important to take care of myself. So, you know what? I’m going to take you someplace new.”

“What?” Flip asks. “Where are we going?”

Ron’s all smiles. He gets up, motions for Flip to get up too. “To my safe space. Come on!”

Flip’s game. “What’s a safe space?”

Ron leads Flip down the hallway, then around the corner, around another corner, down some stairs, and into a part of the building Flip doesn’t know if he’s ever seen before. As they’re walking, Ron’s explaining. “A safe space is a place you can go where it’s safe to do whatever you want. You can just be yourself and no one’s going to say or do anything that makes you uncomfortable. It’s like the Red Lantern on disco night.”

Ron opens an unmarked door. “Welcome to my safe space.”

It’s a room with colorful walls covered over with posters and portraits of black people. Flip recognizes some and not others. There’s a couch that looks comfy, a shag carpet, what look like some snacks… Flip’s going to need more than a second to take it all in.

“Whoa,” Flip says. “And you’re allowed to have this here?”

Ron shoots him a sly grin. “I am since I told everyone it’s the Chief’s.”

“And they believed you?”

“Well, they said, _Chief Bridges wants a poster of Georgia Congressman Andrew Young?_ And I said,” — Ron makes a glowering face — “ _Why wouldn’t he?_ ” Ron’s grinning again. “And they didn’t argue.”

“Being black in America is tough,” Ron continues. “This is where I take the time I need to stay strong.”

Flip takes that in. “So now that we’re here, are you upset about — mmghhh. Wait. Why can’t I say it?”

Ron is so happy. “Because this is my safe space. It won’t let you say it. There’s a lot of things you can’t do in here. Here, try to touch my hair.”

Wow. Flip absolutely wants to touch Ron, including his beautiful hair. He flattens his hand and moves to pet the top of Ron’s comb out. But he _can’t_. The air crackles with electricity, and his hand stops four inches away.

“Unreal,” Flip says, amazed.

Ron walks over to a small round table equipped with two freshly poured glasses of wine. He takes one, offering the other to Flip.

Flip accepts. “Wait. Is red wine a black thing?”

Ron’s so happy. He doesn’t mind explaining to Flip. “No, it’s a Ron Stallworth thing. Not all black people have the same safe space, and not everything in here is a black thing. Look, here’s a photo of the handsomest guy in town.”

“That’s my staff picture. You took that off the org chart.”

Ron might feel embarrassed, but not in his safe space. He gives the picture a little peck. “Mm-hm. You’re cute.”

Flip’s overwhelmed. “I mean, this is great. I wish I had a safe space.”

“Flip, you’re white. You have a safe space. It’s called America.”

Flip bobs his head. “Oh yeah.”

“This is where I can say and do things that I can’t when white people are around. Like this.” Ron shouts at the ceiling: “Sometimes instead of _are_ , I say _aruh_!”

Flip cracks up laughing. “No you don’t. Liar.”

“How would you know? It’s fun. Try it.”

“Try what?”

“Try yelling something you wouldn’t yell in front of black people.”

“I don’t know.”

“C’mon.”

“Okay.” Flip thinks about it. He shouts at the ceiling: “I think Kwame Ture is a bit much!”

Ron’s cackling. “I do too! Flip, what do you think of my safe space?”

Flip’s just happy Ron is happy. “This is fun,” he says. “But it kinda just feels like chillin out.”

“It is, but it’s hard for me to find a place I can just chill out. Every day there’s another racist attack, another abuse of power, another attempt by the Chief to speak jive. And I need a place I can go to deal with it.”

“And you need that at work?” Flip wants to know.

“Yeah! The other day they put out an APB for an armed black male, and it turned out to be a nine year old in a playground with a stick. And it hit me really hard, but when I came in to the office, no one had even heard the story. They were seeing who could remember how to dance the Hully Gully. So I came in here, dealt with my feelings, went back to the office, and told them that it was this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this.” As he says it, Ron does a little sliding dance with step kicks at five times regular speed.

Flip remembers that song. “Hullyyy, Hully Gully!” he calls out. It’s a little awkward and Flip feels the need to explain himself. He looks at his glass. “It went to my head.”

“It’s your first one,” Ron points out.

“It’s _your_ first one!” Flip shoots back. Then, immediately, shaking his head: “You’re right. It’s been a fuckin’ week. The cuckoo clocks initiation ceremony was — wait, hold on. I was trying to say cuckoo clocks. What’s going on?”

Oh, Ron is so happy. “You can’t say the words you wanted to say in here.”

“Whoa! What about — the invisible umpire?”

“You can’t say that either,” Ron says.

Flip is positively giddy. “Let me try again. Not skis. The hologram. A left-handed hitter. Ha!”

Ron explains further. “Safe spaces give you the energy you need to deal with the world’s bullshit. I look at my heroes on the walls, and I know that I’m not alone. If they can do it, so can I.”

Flip is impressed. “You get all that from your safe space?”

“Yeah.” Ron demonstrates again, shouting at the ceiling: “What makes the Chief think he can call me soul brother!”

Flip thinks he gets it: “I still don’t understand how _bad_ means good!”

Ron’s turn: “I think O.J. Simpson is overrated!”

Flip goes again: “I think O.J. Simpson is the greatest running back of all time, and it’s the first thing I tell black people!”

Ron falls out laughing. He has tears coming out of his eyes. “I know, you told me.”

Flip is laughing too. “Hey, can I do one more?” he asks.

“Why not?”

“Thank you,” Flip says. Then he shouts at the ceiling: “Can I touch your hair!”

“Really, Flip?” Ron says. “Really?” He's trying to tease Flip but he's smiling so big and it's giving the game away.

“Hey, your safe space let me say it.”

“Mm-hm,” hums Ron, stepping forward neatly into Flip's space. “Good catch.”

**Author's Note:**

> Concept and most of the dialogue lifted wholesale from “Amber's Late Night Safe Space,” _Late Night with Seth Meyers_ , published Aug 16, 2017 at www.youtube.com/watch?v=RJnquSNVuuw  
> Description: Late Night writer Amber invites Seth to her secret safe space, where she retreats to recharge when her "race plate" gets too full.


End file.
